


What's Another Year?

by blackwidowbby (byanyothername)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Parent Severus Snape, Parent-Child Relationship, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byanyothername/pseuds/blackwidowbby
Summary: When hadn't Harry Potter ruined Severus Snape's birthday?





	

**Author's Note:**

> J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and all the other Big Wigs own all recognizable content. I have only borrowed them for play and give Severus Snape the happiness that he deserves. <3

The room is silent. 

Bitterly, awfully silent.

A heady scent still clings to the air, making it thick, and warm. 

“What are we going to do,” she asks in a quiet, horrified voice that is thick with concern and perhaps, regret. 

Unable to resist, Severus Snape chortles quietly and ends his laughter with an indignant snort. “Do,” He mocks. “We've done plenty.” 

The room returns to bitter silence again and only their breathing breaks it. After a few steady breaths, he finds sleep nagging at him and in an even shorter time after, he succumbs. 

He wakes to the sunlight breaking through the curtains. Bright, yellow rays warming his face, and Severus sneers in disgust. He forgot the blackout charm and the headache clouding his mind is payback. Quietly, he rolls out of bed. The stone floor is freezing against his feet. Immediately, he is wickedly aware of the cold that chills his bedroom. Falling into routine, he retrieves his house slippers, goes to scrub his teeth, and indulge in a hot shower. Unfortunately, the day seems to have other plans. He has one foot in the shower and the other on the tiling when he feels his wards breached. His brows knit in surprise wondering, who dares trespass? 

Hopping into trousers, he buttons it and wrenches his black bathrobe from the hook. Throwing it around his shoulders, he shrugs into it and tightens the sash. Retrieving the wand from her bedside table, he holds it in front of himself warningly and then throws open the bedroom door. Spy habits die hard. 

In his living room sits Messrs Potter, Weasley, Parkinson and Malfoy all staring bleakly at him. A box of pastries rests on his coffee table and it's nearly empty. The crumbs on Weasley’s chest and four cooling cups of tea makes it evident that he interrupted their breakfast. Yet, what were they doing in his home and sharing breakfast no less? Parkinson, always the impertinent one, manages to clear her throat in an effort of politeness. 

“Get out,” Severus barks at them. “I won't have you disturbing the rest of my house.” 

Stunned, Potter opens his mouth to seemingly explain but closes it again when no words tumble forth. 

Growing impatient, he lowers his wand and considers tossing each and every one of them out by his bare hands. He tucks away his wand and steps forth to enact his plan when Malfoy, Merlin save him, interrupts. 

“We were all concerned for you,” Malfoy injects smoothly. 

Severus drops his arms and raises a singular brow and questions, “I beg your pardon?” 

“For both of you,” Weasley stutters. 

“All of you,” Potter mumbles. 

Severus shakes his head at their ludicrous lies. He doesn't understand, why do they share a concern? In the darkest bits of his mind, he sardonically agrees they should be concerned for their own welfare after interrupting his morning routine. 

“Really, it's the brat’s fault.” Parkinson interjects, “If your spawn hadn't flooed us all and insisted we check on you, I would still be in bed.” 

Her eyes salaciously shift to admire the talking freckle that she calls a husband, Ronald. It takes several successful deep breaths and lurches of his stomach to not voluntarily purge at the reminder.

He glowers at his former-student, but she is unmoved by his hostile look, “Where is Gloriana?” 

“Master must not be angry,” Parkinson mimics a House Elf’s high-pitched squeaking. "When young Mistress overheard Master howling like a Banshee, Young Mistress was afraid.” 

“Desist your deplorable impersonation, Parkinson,” He darkly warns. 

Suddenly, the door to his bedroom opens and his wife exits. Her hair is, as it is every morning, a mess. Her dark curls fan around her face in a dubious messy crown. Her eyes are barely open and not yet registering what unfolds. She rests against him from behind. He obstructs their view of her, but her hands peak out as she wraps them around his middle. 

“Wanted to join you in the shower,” Hermione mumbles into the terry cloth of his robe. 

Severus blanches and feels the hot spread of humiliation rise up shoulders into his neck tinging his cheeks with pink blotches. If this morning wasn't turning into a regular shit show, he didn't know what could resemble one. Clearly his throat loudly to grasp her attention, he feels her stiffen behind him. And then, as if fate seems to desire to wreak havoc on him, Hermione’s hand gently slides into his robe and down to the button of his trousers. 

“Mis-Madam Snape,” He shouts breathlessly in alarm. 

“Yes, professor,” Hermione innocently asks and her hand continues to rub against his growing shaft. 

Potter, Bless him, kills it quickly. “Gross, Hermione,” He shouts and his counterparts equally grumble in disgust. All except Malfoy, who raises a brow and has the nerve to smirk. 

Severus blisters and huffs loudly. Stepping aside, he reveals his wife in a similar terrycloth robe who is able to rationalize the appearance of her friends and their spouses. “Did you bring us pastries in honor of Severus birthday,” She asks and hurries forward to grab the last one. 

“No,” Parkinson corrects. 

“Yes,” Weasley’s affirmation slams into his wife’s, which earns him a scowl from her. 

“Absolutely not! I refuse to celebrate my birthday among traitors to my House and Gryffindors,” Severus snarks; his dark eyes jet between Parkinson and Malfoy. 

“I am a Gryffindor,” Hermione reminds him. 

“Oh, Papa! You're alright,” The little voice is high with excitement and Gloriana races across the room, colliding her little body into his legs and breathing heavily with excitement. 

Once again, Severus is confused. Should we not have been? Lifting his youngest into his arms, his surprise continues when her arms clutches around his neck. He recalls Weasley insisting they only came at Gloriana’s askance. 

“Have you recovered,” Gloriana asks softly. 

“Recovered,” He echoes gently. “Was I ill?” 

She whips back. Her hands coming to rest on his warm cheeks and searches his dark gaze. “Of course you were! Mummy had to sit on you to keep you still and you were still seizing.” 

Now, he is particularly perplexed until Malfoy, the sodding brat, has the nerve to giggle. Like a fucking prat! Suddenly, everything shifts into place and he recalls the great amount of seizing occurring the night before. He even recalls the large pair of eyes and illuminated shadow of his daughter standing perplexingly still in the doorway. His lips quirk into a smirk and he clears his throats to suppress the deep laughter threatening to burst forth. Merlin, it is difficult to smother! 

“Seizing,” The alleged brightest witch of her age questions and her jaw drops, “Papa wasn't seizing!” Hermione quickly reassures their child from where she sits on his coffee table. 

His coffee table! 

The coffee table passed from Salazar Slytherin to his descending Head of Houses and his wife’s rump decides to use it for a chair! 

“Papa was…” Hermione trails off and her eyes widen in terror upon realizing there isn't a finer explanation. 

“Go on, Granger. What was Papa doing,” It's Malfoy again, whose expression does not echo his counterparts various degrees of disgust. 

In fact, he looks positively delighted with himself for figuring it out before the others have. If his child were not wrapped around his neck like a demiguise, Severus would have hexed young Mr. Malfoy within an inch of his life. Releasing a deep breath through his nose, he grappled with his inability to speak the words, the truth, for his daughter’s young ears. He preferred keeping her ignorant to it all as long as possible. Not due to any latent or outdated traditions of purity, but for his own damned sanity. The minute Gloriana was given new knowledge, but with no viable means of learning more about the topic, she became a fucking harridan. 

‘Like her mother,’ Severus thought. 

Yet, the wide, wondrous and innocent eyes drew him in and Severus reflexively moved his gaze away from hers. It was preposterous to believe his child, albeit an intelligent child, would master Legilimency already. Still, why risk it? 

“We were participating in an adult activity. No, we won't be telling you what it is or how it occurs.” His beautiful, intelligent wife quickly added at the part of his daughter’s lips. Gloriana, the minx, turned and faced her father with an innocent twitch of her lips. 

Severus Snape could never tell his daughter “no.” 

“We were engaging in coitus, Gloriana. An act that adults partake in to express their affection, but is inappropriate for children. Furthermore, it's all very droll and unappealing to children. Imaginations are stifled. All your movements are controlled by a higher power,” He left out that he was explicitly referring to the sway his wife’s cunt had over him. “Worst of all, it leaves you too exhausted to use magic the next day. Doesn't that sound horrid?” 

Gloriana considered his words and then nods slowly. 

“And you'll likely get a brother or sister out of it,” Potter (not-so) helpfully supplied. 

Her eyes widened and narrowed to slits. A scowl transformed her angelic face and there seemed to be a wind kicking back her long, dark locks from her shoulders.

“WHAT,” Gloriana hissed indignantly and sympathetically patted her father’s cheek. “It's okay. You can just save your magic and sleep in my room.” 

Severus Snape groaned, when had Harry fucking Potter not ruined his life?


End file.
